


five times merlin played with arthur’s hair and the one time arthur realized why

by illiterateowl



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 5 + 1, Banter, Canon Era, Fluff, King Arthur Pendragon - Freeform, M/M, Nightmares, Sassy!Merlin, Sharing a Bed, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, author ignores canon, playing with hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27184901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illiterateowl/pseuds/illiterateowl
Summary: what it says on the canorauthor just wanted an excuse to write multiple fluffy scenes where merlin plays with arthur's hair
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 493





	five times merlin played with arthur’s hair and the one time arthur realized why

**Author's Note:**

> im very new to using ao3 and even more new to using it to publish but im not new to writing fanfics!! so yay!! this is, however, my first gay fanfic so if one of yall tell my parents i will come after you <3
> 
> *I do not own merlin nor do i own the characters. any likeness to another work or reference to something copyrighted is simply coincidental.

1\. pov: arthur

“Your hair is getting long, you know.”

Arthur looked up from his sausages in surprise. It was early morning, not yet past eight, and he couldn’t for the life of him grasp what Merlin had just said. He stared at his manservant in sleep-addled confusion. “What?”

“You need a trim soon. It’s been nearly a month. You’re looking a big shaggy.”

“Shaggy?”

Merlin set down his rag and walked over to where Arthur sat, the king giving him a curious look. And then, suddenly, Merlin’s hands were in his hair and he was all too close for Arthur’s comfort. He hummed as his fingers ran through Arthur’s bangs, two of them pinching strands at a time to check the length. “It’s at least three inches past where you normally like it,” Merlin remarked and Arthur almost missed it because he was so focused on the feeling. Work-calloused hands grazed his scalp in a way that sent both warmth and shock tingling down his spine. It felt… safe having Merlin’s hands like that in his hair. 

It was motherly the way Merlin gazed at him, and for a fleeting second, Arthur’s heart clenched for the mother he never knew. How this man (boy? he couldn’t be much older than twenty) was so motherly and caring was beyond him. Arthur distantly thought he’d make a great father one day but promptly slapped himself for it. Why was that any concern of his? 

“I don’t really have a preference,” Arthur mumbled, trying not to let his eyes close from Merlin’s touch. “It’s simply to maintain appearances.”

“Well, currently, you look like a right peasant. How does tomorrow sound?”

The insult flew right over his head. Instead, he chose to mumble, “Tomorrow?” 

“For me to cut your hair, you dollophead.” Merlin teased, a soft smile on his face as he removed his hands from Arthur’s head. The king caught himself before he whined at the loss of contact. 

“Oh. Yes, tomorrow after my council meeting should work.”

“I’ll try to make time for it among the list of chores you give me.”

“Merlin?”

“Yes, sire?”

“Do shut up.”

~

2\. pov: merlin

Merlin couldn’t quite fathom what had made him so insistent that he cut Arthur's hair. Arthur was his king and Merlin was his king’s manservant. He wasn’t a barber and he certainly wasn't the best at it, but in his time at the castle he found himself being the one to cut the king’s hair. Arthur himself had insisted upon it. Months of snow had been reason enough to put it off as the temperature dropped, while all the while Merlin’s affection for his king rose. He hardly knew how he was able to play with his hair yesterday without spontaneously combusting.

He rapped on the door to Arthur’s chambers nervously, and when there was a vague shout of acknowledgment from inside, he entered to find the king shirtless at his desk, mulling over some papers absentmindedly. Merlin instantly blushed, forgetting for a moment why he was here, his gaze drifting to Arthur’s bare skin. 

“Ah,” Arthur said, dropping the papers with a teasing smirk and startling Merlin out of his sudden daydream, “I began to think you’d forgotten about my appointment.”

“I’d never miss a chance to keep you from being an eyesore, my Lord.” 

Arthur’s smirk rolled into an unimpressed glare as Merlin stepped behind his chair and busied himself tying a cloth around Arthur’s neck. He briefly wondered if pressing it a little too harshly against the king’s neck would get him sent to the stocks for treason but decided against it when Arthur turned to look at him. 

“Get on with it, please. Sometime today, while you’re at it.”

“Sorry, just wondering if I could strangle you with this.”

“Threatening your king is treason, Merlin.”

“Well aware, sire.” 

Merlin shot Arthur a grin before sliding the shears out of their sheath and opening and closing them a couple of times as he looked for a good place to start. 

“Gods, you’re making me nervous.”

“But I always do a good job!”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be at least a little concerned, clumsy as you are.”

“I’m not that clumsy.”

“Don’t be modest, Merlin. You’re an absolute oaf.”

Merlin let the insult roll off and placed his thumb and forefinger on Arthur’s chin to turn his head away. He began gently snipping away at the back of his head, small chunks of golden hair falling onto the cloth around his neck. 

This was normal and he loved it. Both of them did. They thrived off the casual insults, the witty banter, the teasing language; it was part of their relationship and how they had gotten so close. The trust was mutual, too. Merlin wouldn’t hurt a fly, as Arthur had so often seen his manservant wildly dashing around his chambers with a goblet and parchment to catch them. He trusted Merlin would never hurt him, even while he brandished shears dangerously close to his head or joked about throttling him with a piece of cloth. Arthur, on the other hand, would give life and limb for Merlin, as evident in his suicide mission for the Mortaeus flower and countless other reckless attempts at saving Merlin. They had a bond that far exceeded King and Servant. Something that made even a simple hair trim worth a thousand words. 

Merlin began humming a song his mother used to sing for him back in Ealdor, a lullaby that would calm him on nights he couldn’t sleep from being so overwhelmed by his magic. Arthur sat up attentively at the sound of Merlin’s singing voice, a low baritone that rumbled lightly in the back of his throat like the strings of a lute. Soon, Merlin watched as the king’s shoulders began drooping and he leaned into the back of his chair with a sigh. The muscles in his neck relaxed and he allowed his head to rest fully against Merlin’s tactful fingers. The movement pushed them farther against Arthur’s scalp, calloused fingertips brushing through soft golden locks. 

At this point, it wasn’t even about cutting Arthur’s hair. Merlin, still humming, hooked his pinky finger through the handle of the shears and let them dangle as he ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair. If Arthur were to ask why, Merlin would simply say he was checking the length, but he didn’t ask, and Merlin chuckled to himself when the king’s eyes slid shut and he let out a sigh. 

It was a long moment of tenderness before Merlin finally resumed his snipping, but he left one hand in Arthur’s hair just because. 

Eventually, Merlin got around to Arthur’s bangs and the king sleepily cracked open an eye. “Almost done?” he asked, words a little mumbled. 

Merlin grinned, locking eyes with Arthur’s fiercely blue ones. “If you don’t want to be able to see, then yeah I’m done.” 

Arthur frowned. “It really isn't that long… I don’t know what you’re on about.” 

In reply, Merlin snipped off a three-inch long piece from Arthur’s bangs and waved it in front of him. “I think I’d see better with this out of my face, sire.” 

“Don’t be smart, Merlin. Doesn’t look good on you.” 

Merlin just stuck out his tongue and resumed cutting until he stood back to admire his work. Which, in hindsight, was likely more Arthur than his actual job at his hair. He didn’t want to admit it, especially not to Arthur, but he was actually very handsome. And now that he didn’t look like he’d been lost in the woods for a few months, the regality of his features shone through; piercing eyes, long nose, fierce jaw… he was really stunning. He must have been staring a little too fondly because Arthur smirked and said, “I do hope you’re looking at the hair and not just the man it’s attached to.” 

Merlin stared back wide-eyed, a blush creeping up his neck all the way to his ears. He managed what he hoped was a cheeky grin before he spat out, “Don’t flatter yourself, sire.” and abruptly turned to go get the broom before he could see Arthur’s smirk drop or hear the indignant squawk.

~

3\. pov: Arthur

Despite Merlin’s valiant efforts at getting rid of the cut hair, he still found pieces in his tunic that made him itch uncomfortably, especially at times when it would be absurd to see a king scratching his own back. He ordered a bath the next day and when Merlin arrived with a few other servants, buckets of steaming water in tow, he told him just how incompetent at his job he was at which Merlin gaped at him.

“You don’t look like a peasant anymore,” he argued as he stripped Arthur of his chainmail.

“Yes, well, despite your lack of failure in the trimming department, you managed to fail miserably at cleaning it up. Maybe I should have had someone else cut my hair, then at least I wouldn’t have felt like I had prickly bushes in my breeches!” 

Merlin stopped halfway through folding his tunic, shooting Arthur a look of genuine concern. “Did you really?” 

“Yes!” Arthur exclaimed in exasperation, flinging his hands up and then crossing his arms over his now bare chest. “Maybe I should get a new servant just to clean my clothes properly.” 

“I like that idea. Less work for me.” 

Arthur cuffed him on the back of the head and stepped into the bathwater. Remarkably, it was the perfect temperature. “Well, at least you did one thing right. I’m not boiling alive this time ‘round.” 

“I could always add some boiling water.” 

“I could always send you to the stocks.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“No.”

The “no” in reply was quiet, so quiet Arthur wondered if Merlin hadn’t heard it, and if he had, if he could stuff it back in his mouth and pretend he hadn’t anything. 

But Merlin must not have heard because he was sifting through one of Arthur’s cabinets looking for soaps and lotions and whatever else he did for Arthur when he had a bath. Eventually, he called, “Any particular scent in mind, sire? Lavender sounds particularly intriguing today.” 

Arthur glanced up at Merlin, brows furrowed. “You want me to smell like lavender?” 

Merlin froze, his mouth dropping open in surprise, and Arthur would have laughed at his expression were it not for the blush creeping up both their faces. How they managed to switch back and forth between banter and what bordered on awkward flirting was beyond him. “Well, I-I just thought- thought it might be nice? Not that I want you to smell like lavender but-but it is… _calming_ and I thought… maybe for your stress?” He finished, sounding very much like he had made up an excuse on the spot, not meeting Arthur’s gaze. 

Arthur let out a shaky breath that could have been an exasperated sigh, and amended the whole situation with, “Lavender it is, then.”

Merlin looked overjoyed and the small smile Arthur received made his stomach do flips and the corners of his mouth twitch up.

Despite their awkward teasing/flirting moments, Merlin must have no idea how Arthur actually felt about him, he realized. How he felt, exactly, he couldn’t put really into words. What label could you even put on a tense yet carefree relationship between a King and a Servant, a friendship with a station difference, a love but a society-bred distance, an admiration and a need for reservation? None of it could be put into words, and none of it could ever be said aloud should he find them. 

_Was it love, though?_ Arthur wondered as Merlin rubbed the bar of lavender soap between his deft fingers. There shouldn’t be anything between them. They should be a King and his manservant, only there to say _“yes, sire”_ and answer to every one of his needs. So why did he feel connected to Merlin? Why talk with him as if they were close confidants, banter as old friends or flirt like lovers? It had to be, Arthur thought, sinking into the water.

It had to be love. There was no other word for it.

Merlin ran his fingers quietly through Arthur's hair, soaping it up as the scent of lavender poured around them. It did, in fact, calm Arthur and he was able to think a little more clearly. Or actually less because all he could focus on was the steady scrubbing of Merlin’s hands. He ran the soap down Arthur’s neck, and then, after a slight pause, began massaging him. 

He didn’t normally do this, but when he did, it took all of Arthur’s willpower not to fall asleep. Or kiss him, he realized, doggedly focusing on the front of the tub. Merlin worked at the back of his neck, pressing out knots from poring over papers late at night, before making his way to the back of his king’s shoulders, where he had been sore from training the knights. Arthur let out a low grumble of contentment and eventually gave in to the temptation of letting his eyes slide shut. One of his senses gone, his sense of touch was amplified and he could almost feel every groove of Merlin’s fingers on his skin as he moved back up to his hair. There was suddenly a gentle nudge at his back and Arthur sleepily recognized it as a signal to move forward in the tub so Merlin could rinse his hair out. 

He jostled forward, curling his knees to his chest, accidentally splashing water out of the tub, and rested the top of his head back against it. He made the mistake of opening his eyes and ended up staring directly up at Merlin, upside down in his vision, staring intently back down at him. His breath caught in his throat as he watched Merlin’s eyes flick over his face before swiftly moving back to his hairline. Logically, Arthur concluded, as Merlin poured water from a pitcher over his hair, he had no other choice but to look up at him and study the dark bangs falling into his eyes, the long eyelashes and– were those freckles? 

Merlin’s hands ran through his hair as he rinsed it out and then he was sitting Arthur back up to rinse his shoulders. The scrubbing turned into massaging and Arthur was falling asleep again and in his hazy stupor he absentmindedly mumbled, “A little left, please, Merlin.”

“Please? So nice today, sire.” 

Caught off guard by Merlin’s witty response, Arthur was jolted back to a reality in which his absurdly bold manservant always had some clever retort on the tip of his tongue and he needed to respond in kind. He promptly shook his head, splattering Merlin and the surrounding floor and furniture with water. “Nice, am I?”

 _“Arthur!”_ Merlin squeaked, gaping at the mess, “I hate you.” 

Arthur laughed. “I love you, too.” 

Both of them froze. Suddenly the bath water was warmer than he remembered and his cheeks flushed madly. _Stupid, stupid, stupid…_ why did he say that?! It had just slipped out so naturally...this was just such a domestic situation it had felt right in the moment but now—now he was furious with himself for giving his biggest secret away in such a manner. Merlin still wasn’t saying anything and he wondered for a few moments if Merlin did actually hate him for saying that. But then, mercifully, Merlin’s fingers started gently massaging his shoulders again. 

They said nothing the rest of the bath session, but when Arthur turned to excuse Merlin, he caught a glimpse of a shy smile and flushed cheeks and all words died uselessly on his tongue. 

~

4\. pov: merlin

It was entirely Merlin’s fault. He knew it. They both knew it.

The hunting trip was supposed to be fun. They’d grabbed Percival, Gwaine, Lancelot, Leon, and Elyan and were amiably trotting through the forest. He and Arthur hadn’t talked at all about the bath incident, but Merlin had complete trust in Arthur. They’d talk when he was ready.

For now, Merlin pretended like nothing happened because every time they made eye contact, Arthur blushed much too noticeably. Merlin pretended he didn’t notice Arthur watching his every move or tracking his lips when he was sat across the campfire, animatedly telling a story to the knights. It didn’t take him long to realize Arthur had meant it, that he was in love with Merlin, but he didn't want to rush this. And plus, Arthur didn’t know Merlin returned his affections.

Arthur was so obvious that Lancelot approached Merlin in the stables as they readied for the hunt and gently nudged him. “You didn’t happen to put a love spell on Arthur, did you?”

Merlin immediately turned bright red. “Wha-What?”

Lancelot chuckled lightly and adjusted his gauntlets. “He’s trying to be subtle, but I think he’s paying a little too much attention to you.” 

“I-” Merlin was going to try something, but figured Lancelot deserved to know. He couldn’t lie to him anyway; now that he knew about his magic, to Lancelot, he was as transparent as glass. “I...yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“And?” Lance’s eyes were suddenly glittering with girlish curiosity. 

“And,” Merlin began, surreptitiously adjusting something in his saddle bag as a few knights passed, “I am more than willing to wait for when we can talk, just the two of us.” 

Lancelot beamed proudly at him. “How noble of you, Merlin.”

Merlin just smiled. Noble? Definitely not. But from Lancelot, it was high praise. 

Now, as he rode behind Arthur, it was harder to ignore his feelings. He could almost sense the whispered words between the knights riding behind them in single file. They were gossiping, he thought with burning embarrassment, about him and Arthur, like a bunch of noble ladies. Whenever they went to turn a corner, Arthur turned his head just a little bit to check on Merlin and Merlin would give him that shy smile Arthur had caught before he’d left after his bath. Arthur would then quickly turn around and both boys would pretend they hadn’t seen or done anything, and the five knights behind them would make pitiful attempts at disguised giggles and whispers. 

They stopped for the day on a rather sketchy cliff, but they were close to the castle (it was even in sight from here) so they were safe and it was a beautiful albeit cold night. The six knights and the ever-present servant sat around a suspiciously bright fire (Merlin had absolutely _nothing_ to do with that), telling tales of heroics that they all had heard before. It was Gwaine’s turn, and he was eagerly waving around a rabbit leg as he said something about a noblewoman in some kingdom Merlin didn’t bother catching the name of. Merlin was happily tending to his (totally not magicked) fire and stirring a pot of vegetable soup to go with the roasted rabbit when suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to address whoever it was, but, forgetting he had a spoon of soup, flung it into their chest. Naturally, it was Arthur, and the king looked absolutely horrified that _his manservant had just flung soup at him_ and made to step back but his boot caught on the log he had been perched on earlier and he went collapsing gracelessly over the other side: right into a bunch of grass and bushes. 

Merlin gaped and immediately dropped the spoon in the pot to rush to his king’s aid. Arthur tried to shove him away, cheeks bright with embarrassment and a tad of anger, but Merlin persistently grabbed at Arthur’s arms and hauled him up to sit on the log. The knights were guffawing behind him watching the scene play out, and Merlin would have been more focused on covering his red cheeks if it weren't for the fact that when he looked at Arthur, he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing as well.

His hair was stuck up in all directions, threaded haphazardly with twigs and dirt. Not to mention he was fuming and pouting like an angry toddler, and there was soup dripping down the front of his chainmail. 

Finally, he couldn’t resist and doubled over laughing. He expected the slap to the back of the head and the growled, “ _Mer_ lin!” but he didn’t expect to be tackled to the forest floor. He landed with a soft _“oof!”_ and then Arthur was playfully punching and slapping him until Merlin eventually punched and slapped back and they both dissolved into giggles again. 

The knights were giving each other knowing grins, eager to see what would happen; Merlin didn’t realize it, but Arthur was sitting on top of his hips, chests flush, and his hands were grasping the sparse tufts of grass around Merlin’s head. Merlin suddenly felt very trapped and very much in need of something to break the tension, but his eyes were drawn to Arthur’s face. Unfortunately, they roamed past the chiseled jaw and blue eyes and straight up to the golden bird’s nest atop Arthur’s head. Arthur shot him a confused look and Merlin had to slap a hand over his mouth to conceal his grin as he reached a hand up to Arthur's head. He ran fingers through his hair and they both watched as grass and twigs (and now dirt from their playfight) tumbled down between them. Arthur didn't seem fazed by the brush; instead, his eyes were fluttering closed. Merlin’s breath caught in his throat as he continued running his fingers through Arthur’s hair, even after the debris was gone. 

He was just studying the lack of lines on Arthur’s uncharacteristically content face when he suddenly felt a weird warmth on his chest. Was it.. _wet?_ A thought hit him like a charging horse and he quickly pushed Arthur off of him, the king tumbling sideways, and sat up to glare down at his stew-covered tunic. “Gross!” he wailed, desperately brushing off the pieces of vegetable that he’d accidentally flung at Arthur earlier. And this time, when the laughter started up again, he wearily resumed his place as the butt of their jokes, Arthur’s tumble entirely forgotten. 

~

5\. pov: merlin

_“MERLIN!”_

It was a cool night, but warmer than it had been in months, and Gaius had sent Merlin out for some midnight harvesting. Moonflowers that only bloomed once every few months, night-blooming jasmine, and some rare lunar lily he’d never heard of all lined his herb pouch as he padded silently back to his room. He was just trudging up his least favorite staircase _(who made a staircase thirty-two steps long?!)_ when he heard his name shouted from down the corridor. 

Normally when he heard his name shouted, he immediately rolled his eyes: Arthur was just irritated with him for being “incompetent” again. But this… something about the tone of this voice had Merlin dropping his flowers in a heartbeat and tearing through the hallways toward Arthur’s chambers. 

His heart was pounding as he skidded to a halt just outside the door and flung it open without even knocking. And then his heart fell through his stomach as he saw Arthur. 

His king was wide-eyed and staring at Merlin with such fear in his eyes that Merlin almost collapsed out of distress. He was hugging his knees tightly to his chest and his breath was heaving, sweat glistening on his bare skin. “Merlin…” he whimpered, and that was all the information Merlin needed. 

He crossed the room in a few long strides, kicked off his boots, clambered onto the bed, and wrapped his body around Arthur, holding him tightly as he ran fingers through his hair. “Shh… I’m here, Arthur. I’m here. I’m safe; you’re safe; it’s okay.”

He barely registered the strong arms clinging to him in a vice-like grip or the unabashed tears flowing freely over tanned cheeks. He barely felt the shudders that wracked Arthur’s suddenly limp body or the sobs that echoed in the cold chamber. He only felt the aching in his heart as he tried to wrap his head around what could have done this to his king. Protectiveness surged through him and he wished more than anything that he could take away whatever grief and pain was plaguing him. 

Arthur’s sobs soon reduced to gentle whimpers as he buried his face in Merlin’s chest, and Merlin knew he was coming back to himself – and probably hiding because he was ashamed of his breakdown. _“No man is worth your tears…”_ he’d told Merlin so long ago, but here he was, sobbing about what Merlin could only assume was the nightmare of the century. 

“Arthur,” he whispered, “You’re safe, I’m right here.”

Arthur inhaled noisily through his shirt.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” 

Arthur made a sad attempt at sitting up, but another sob shot through him and he clutched at Merlin’s tunic again. Merlin made gentle shushing noises in his ear and resumed running his hands through his hair. That relaxed Arthur significantly, and soon he was hiccuping into Merlin’s chest, his hot, trembling breaths heating the air between him. 

“Arthur,” Merlin tried again, “tell me.”

In his right mind, Arthur would smack Merlin upside the head for ordering him and say something to the effect of _“Do you even know I’m the king?”_

But he wasn’t in his right mind. The King of Camelot was trembling in his manservant’s arms. 

As he pulled back ever so slowly — _gods,_ he looked like a drowned puppy — Merlin removed his hands from Arthur’s hair and ran them over his tearstained face, brushing the evidence of his nightmare away as best he could. He was still sticky with sweat, hair matted to his forehead and neck, and his watery blue eyes were rimmed with red, but he was so _beautiful_ that Merlin couldn't help the soft smile as he caressed his cheek.

“You were… dead. Gone… my-my father… he had everyone killed...you, Gaius, Morgana, Gwen, Leon — everyone I care about, they were dead at his feet.” he stared into Merlin’s eyes so helplessly that Merlin almost felt like he was feeling Arthur’s grief and pain. “I tried...so hard to save you, Merlin...I couldn't-I couldn’t do it-!” he cut himself off with a violent sob and pulled in on himself, tugging his knees up to his chest again and hiding his face in his hands. Merlin had to fight his iron strength but he managed to wrestle Arthur’s limbs away from him and tug the king into his lap. 

“Arthur, look at me, _look_ at me.”

He did. 

Pained blue met fierce blue in an invisible explosion that rocked Merlin’s core. 

“There will never be a day where I will not be by your side. If I die, it will be because I was protecting you. Do you hear me?” Arthur didn’t move but from the way his eyes widened at Merlin’s words, he knew they’d gone through. Merlin plowed on. “No one can take me away from you. You father...he had his own griefs. But you are not him. You don’t have to fear your future, and you especially don’t have to fear for mine. I’ll be with you...always.”

A single tear rolled down Arthur’s cheek and Merlin almost missed his whispered request: “Stay...please.” 

Merlin just smiled and gently nudged Arthur off his lap. He took off his jacket, but not before using the sleeves to gently dry Arthur’s face, and then threw it to the corner of the room. Laying down under the heavy blankets, he pulled Arthur down next to him and curled himself against his back, a long arm and leg draped over his body. Arthur let out a shuddering sigh into the comfortable silence between them and Merlin was already drifting off to sleep when he spoke, “Merlin,”

“Yes?”

“Will you…”

“What is it?”

“Will you play with my hair?” 

“Of course.” 

Merlin was glad Arthur was facing away from him because he didn’t see the blush on his cheeks. And when Merlin was sure he was asleep, he didn’t feel the gentle kiss to the back of his neck either. 

~

\+ 1. pov: arthur

Arthur woke up feeling… safe. That was the only word for it. Something about him felt overwhelming calm. Was it the air? No...His sheets? No, his blankets hadn’t changed. He shuffled around a bit trying to free his legs so he could curl them to his chest when he realized...his legs were... trapped...in _other_ legs. He almost broke his neck jerking it around to see who was behind him but he relaxed almost instantly upon seeing Merlin’s face, lips parted in sleep and eyes shut to block out the morning sun peeping through the crack in the curtains. 

And then he remembered: waking up in a cold sweat, his closest friends dead because of his father of all people. He’d been so angry in the dream but he’d woken up terrified because it felt so real. All he could think about was Merlin’s eyes sliding shut as the life drained out of him and he’d shot out of bed and screamed his name. He had to know… he had to know if the person he cared about most in this world was alive. A tiny voice warned, _“he’s on the other side of the castle; he’ll never hear you.”_ while another hissed, _“he’ll never come because he’s dead.”_ and Arthur had to fight every impulse to sprint through the hallways and find his beloved manservant just to see his face. But he was too terrified and his body was lead and his heart was pounding and he was shaking– and then Merlin was there and it all came bursting out. 

He remembered gentle arms around him, shushing in his ear, hands in his hair, soothing words and the smell of Merlin washing over him like a flood and it was okay. Everything would be okay. 

But nothing about last night was evident in his sunny chambers. All he could focus on was that Merlin was here in his bed and he briefly remembered asking him to stay and then play with his hair and– oh, he was so desperate, even when half aware of his own actions. 

His cheeks flushed as he watched Merlin’s chest rise and fall slowly. He wanted to kiss him. Last night he’d said he would always be there for him and Arthur wondered… if he read between the lines…. if that had meant something more. Merlin could very well be implying that he always wanted to serve Arthur, but...something told him this was more than Master-Servant. 

_This is love,_ his brain supplied helpfully. 

And he believed it. 

He counted Merlin’s breaths for a while, trying to calm down. 

_1…._

_2…._

_3…._

Merlin was still safe. 

Overwhelmed, he suddenly turned over fully and without even wondering if he was acting on the right impulse, pressed his lips against Merlin’s. 

They were… so _soft_. He couldn’t help it and licked just a little at them. Even in the morning, how did he taste like strawberries and vanilla? 

And then he heard a groan and Merlin’s eyes fluttered open, taking in the situation all at once. Arthur, in a panic, pulled back so fast he almost tumbled from the bed, but Merlin’s cat-like reflexes kicked in and he hooked his legs around Arthur’s and his hands around his wrists and the momentum threw them together again, a blushing pile of limbs and wide eyes. 

Oh no. Here was the part where Merlin said he didn’t love him and Arthur took advantage of him and he shouldn’t have done this and he needed to leave now to get breakfast and-

“Why’d you stop?”

Arthur’s brain had already started planning his own funeral but quickly shut down at Merlin’s words. “What?”

“Arthur, you idiot, come here.” 

Merlin tugged him by the shoulders and he all but collapsed on Merlin’s chest. Their lips met, slow, but passionate, and they were kissing like they needed the other to breathe. Arthur’s arms wrapped around Merlin’s torso, hands sliding up and down his sides. One of Merlin’s hands slid up to Arthur’s jaw, and the other ran through his hair in a movement that had become all too familiar the past week. Arthur let slip a quiet moan and Merlin _giggled_ , the sound almost magical, like a forest spirit or something. 

When they pulled apart, both were smiling widely, taking in the other with joyful eyes and heaving breaths and then, at the same time, they whispered, “I love you.” 

After that, their kisses were in sync. They didn’t need words. They didn’t need gestures or instructions.

All they needed was each other and that was more than enough.


End file.
